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Prose Poetry Funny Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Funny

These Prose Poetry Funny poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Funny poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lucila

So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Ignoramus: Who Is Not Far From Being A Fool

When everyone goes east, he heads west to him, every dialogue is a contest comes into an interaction as the biggest then leaves agonisingly as the lowest. When he speaks, you know he is half-honest even though he truly knows, but not near the best. He always end up lost in the forest this simple fact, he cannot digest. The moment he shamefully fails the test he begins to manifest then becomes far from being modest and everyone around him, he treats like unwanted guests. Causing a general unrest as he unnecessarily protest. All over his countenance, ignorance crests not accepting defeat, he holds high his egocentric chest. Quick to make jest but correction; he equates to incest and disagreements, he always detest. We all have the quest to know and share the latest so as to add value to ourselves and self-invest which can be a cultivation to future harvest. But knowing it all is impossible and knowing half, believing to know all is ridiculous. Admiting not to know it all is the fairest but this is yet not comprehensible to him, to whom; to know is like a conquest. The wise keep quiet lest, they cause him to become the tempest and with every word, he neutralizes any palatable zest. Oh poor child! change or you'll suffer from everlasting molest where no one wants to visit your nest not because you are unblest but cos of the truth of your infest which now, is obviously clearest. It is good to learn my child and sharing is an attribute of Love. But run away from half baked lines or be humble enough to listen while they become fully whole. You were given two ears and one mouth hence talk less and listen more because an Ignoramus is always not far from becoming a fool!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Camp Anawana (An Ode to 20-somethings' Nostalgia)

Sometimes I can't believe it
It all happened so fast
Real life is truly here
Just who is that looking at me in the mirror?
How come these bills are addressed to my name?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

Sometimes I miss the days
When your crush had cooties, not STDs
And afternoons were spent climbing trees
And it's hard to grasp our age
Who's that man calling you "his wife"?
How come that little girl just called you Dad?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And we're all grown up

Sometimes the kids today
Make me feel so old when they say
They've never heard of Kurt Cobain
But I know that we're better
Cause we could fix our Nintendo in just one blow
And we all figured this out sans Twitter
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

I remember the stupid things
Pogs and Goosebump books
Playlists were mixtapes on cassettes
And Friday nights meant TGIF on ABC
Nickelodeon was our only obsession
Friend requests were made in person
And they still showed music videos on MTV
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And it's a different world - Nothing's the same
Cause we're all grown up


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Who

I stepped out on my lawn tonight
To catch a breath or two
Of cool night air when with a blare
An Owl questioned "Who?".

"Well, it is I", was my reply
"And now, just who are you?"
Then in a short he did report 
Again with that same "Who". 

"You", I said, "Is who", I said
With some authority
"Now who are thee, up in that tree?"
And "Who" again said he. 

"Oh! Now I see, when uttered thee
From high up in that tree
'Who' was thy introduction
And not a question be. 

So, Who is you and I am me. 
I'm glad we talked this out. 
Come again my feathered friend
You're welcome here about."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

CHANGED MY Underwear,------- and My Name

I
change my name 
like 
underwear...
fairly often, I suppose

I 
change my clothes 
like 
area codes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see

I 
keep it fresh ta' death
nada
speck of blood
or 
ketchup on my attire

I 
got more rhymes 
than I got grey hairs
and 
that's an effing lot
because i got my share

I 
digg a 
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
those are 
indeed 
rare to find

YET...
if  only poets would 
unleash the fury 
instead of 
holding back
what's really 
on their mind...

I must say...
the library, 
the internet, 
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
AND, maybe 
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with 
underwear's elastic,
and just go 
APE-Spit Spastic!~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in Ancestry.com question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I'm Not Five

I was going to jump on the bed at midnight
While she slept to wish her a happy birthday.
But she looked so asleep and it was so quiet.
I did it anyway because it's funnier to go through with it.
It's not like I'm throwing a nerf ball at her head.
So I get my knees on the bed and hop up-and-down
And "whisper-yell," "happy birthday happy birthday."
And she's not upset, in fact, she's giggling. 
And she whispers to me that she loves me.
I whisper to her that I love her, too.
And I leave the room with the bed
I just jumped and sang on.
And I'm 32.
I mean it's not like I fell off the bed
While jumping and hurt my head.
And made an owie.
I'm not 5.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Someone Clue Me In

Somebody clue me in
Why oh why must this women toy with my emotions,
Once again dear lord why oh why does the phone keep ringing
And chicks call and hang up, I have gutting to the point I can tell what type
Of day they had by the way the phone ringing’s and hit the dial to hang up

I don’t what to say anything blasphemy or even out of character but even
A man has his breaking point, this is not another teen movie or sequel or even prequel
But I did not know I knew so many woman in till I got on facebook took two and half years
To clear up clarification of what was said and what  was  facts and fact is we was just friends nothing 
More Right all right …

Last twenty days I have gotting calls from a colordo spring company, Burbank CA, Albant Or,
Hudson,Fl, Hartwell Ga and who in the world does a fund raiser an nine clock on a Sunday,
You Should name the fund raise the “Unity Front” I know I been told all woman hate me or was
You just flirty I cant tell so cruel and ususally, why call from 0-0-0-0 number and pick up the second time 
and keep call me madma then call the next fifteen mintues and then I get a recording “saying goodbye”
This is not “Shaun of the dead”
This is not another teen movie but” Jason is my nickname” so how far do you want go?
But please don’t bus out my window glad my mom sold my car she didn’t bus out the windows of my car
Is the music effecting your behavior?

If you don’t know now you know I got call id, call waiting, speed dial, and the call that pop up
On the tv. And if you seen the "Big Hit" I got the bust buster buster do you know what that even is?
I get it I’m a nice guy too nice most men first call they get they said the first thing that comes to mind I 
wonder what word that is?,

And for the record I am not a celeb yet I might of spoken to a few
 here and there don’t even know 
How they know me truth be told I don’t have a dime to my name don’t seem like I going break the 
Bank anytime soon but yet I keep getting twitter invites borgobaby- love don’t live here any more life goes on.

Yes Sir, but for the record my fare lady oh im sorry my fare ladies I am not a player, 
Gentlemen a tier.
But once again my nickname is Jason so game over, the wait is over
and I must say I adore woman to the 
Fullest extension but love don’t live here anymore once more and 
I don’t what to play games like most 20 something 30 is acoming and sound more cool then “not 
between but tween” “not alright but all right all right all right”
and “absolutely”, “ 4up 4 down tip top” don’t for get I came up with most this "clinches" in 09’
But I choice to stay anonymous speaking of anonymous FedEx call at twelve where is my packages? 
Woman I don’t understand someone clue me in?
"A Poet and Still Running"


Details | Prose Poetry | |

OXYMORON Newsflash:

"EARLY TONIGHT, according to HEAR SAY, things got PRETTY UGLY when a SINGLE GROUP of HELLS
ANGELS became SIMPLY IMPOSSIBLE to control during an ALL OUT MINOR CATASTROPHE at the
MICROSOFT WORKS sponsored MEXI-CALI JUMBO SHRIMP Festival“.


(in a strange way, this type of wishy-washy lingo reminds me of our lovely National news)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thoughts from the Mind of a Blogger


It was a chilly morning in paradise...

Autumn was already here...

A time for strange things to happen, as it is that time of year...

She was up most of the night, doing a write....

Regarding some hubs and her series titled "Legend of Fred "

Ahh the questions she had... rolling around in her head..

Were “where were her readers, her followers “ her Hubbers...?

They had all seemed to like what she wrote in the past..

But lately her hubs were falling so fast....

She had written articles on health and life..

perhaps she had targeted too much strife...

Maybe they wanted to read about food..

But when you're not a cook, that would be kinda rude..

Oh, will wonders never cease ?

So she decided she'd get some zzzzz's

She lay in her bed, not moving at all...

but breathing quite deeply, as I saw the covers fall...

So I stretched my muscles and walked ever so slow..

So as not to wake her , then I spied her big toe..

Sticking out from the blanket..it was such a temptation..

And with me having such a" foot fixation".. however...

She needed the rest , so she can finish her quest..

I have some thoughts of my own...

that I would like to share in a poem..

And I would be happy to help her.. but..

I don’t think the world is ready for me...

as I am a BLOGGING CAT.. you see

So I will close for now...everyone have a great week...as

I'm off to seek something that has a tweak and a squeak..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Peaches

Peaches 

I feel so loved tonight....by you.
Honey,
I sing to you.
And you say how good my voice is.
I tell you funny stories,
That are funny only to me,
You laugh so politely.
That's how I know you love me....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Where The Branches Stop Moving

"All is life. There should be no judgement."
"It is if you are at the foot of the Golden Palace 
                shouting at people that are continents away 
                to follow you, but they can't hear you, 
                much less see you and know where you are.
We're all among palaces, life is our creation."
"How can they re-create life?"
"Look down the river, where the wind stops, 
                See, see where the branches stop moving?"
"Yes."
"The creation is in the stillness."
"Nonsense."

(Silence.)

"Where are the fault lines?"
"We've re-created them."

(Silence.)

"And now count the many secrets we suddenly reveal to ourselves!"

(Silence.)

"I should take you to a NASCAR race."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lawyer Envy

(The writing exercise was to choose three poetry cliches and make them fresh)
(back stabber, after my own heart; and a soul of discretion; maybe more...)

He was a back stabber
After my own heart
Meek and sleek and sneaky
He wormed his way in
And 'innocently' uncovered
State secrets
Private tales
Skeletons in closets
They were all fair game

He was a back stabber
Not to be trusted
But had 
Such a sweet smile
That promised a soul of discretion
It was too easy to believe him
It felt good to trust him

He pulled his victims in
And it wasn’t until the court case
Was over
And the jury voted for him
Again
That you realized he was a back stabber

He pulled it off with such panache
And charm
You had to admire the guy
Even while you staunched your blood

I wish – oh I wish
I had his skills
He was a back stabber
After my own heart


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An OD Pen

That pen just lies there on the pale white blank pad page__no activity; that sorry pen has O D on something dangerous_passed out_hardly breathing..Come on pen sit up_here sip on this strong coffee..That's it click, look around, life is active, inviting_write it down..Come on now_here eat up of these grits and red-eyed gravy; now that is an eye opener..You've slept through the last rose of summer that was deep burgundy long stemmed on the bush.  You missed that lucious kiss under the pale pink rose  that on the trellis grows.  Winter is coming on, sober up, get busy for you missed the Hummingbird sip nectar from the Wild Petunia then fly away leaving hundreds of Yellow Butterflies to get intoxicated upon its blooms..So you say you are awake now..Here let me kiss you beautiful ink flowing 'pon the page!


I think my pen OD on chocolate though!!!

Sponsor: Joann Grisetti
Contest: Drunken Pen Round 2


Details | Prose Poetry | |

How Did Santa Claus Broke The Reindeer Back

How Santa Claus broke the reindeer back

I am just disappointed he is such a play ball; he refuses to joined the community gym, he have no consideration for a hard working reindeer like me. Please do us all a favor and stop telling everyone that you’re tall and slim Mr. Claus
Santa put this in your pipe and smokes it. I am forming a union; you can contact my Lawyer Mr. Tin Tin

 I need some Fringe benefits else I am going to quit; year after year after year I chauffeur you around
This is not a smooth ride on green grass, it’s cold, cold snow “please looked around.
Breaking into people houses late at night, dropping off toys, we are plaster on every walls and poles
Santa this reindeer is off radar; you get off your fat ass or hire Casper the friendly ghost.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Missing Mouth

On a warm Thursday morning
my mouth leaped off my sleepy face and eluded 
my messy apartment.

It went absent for years.
All the “missing” signs with $100 dollar rewards
did not pay off.

So I had to cope with people’s kind aid.
They ate off my food bite by bite,
verbalized what was on my mind,
and smiled instead of me.

It was awful being lipless.
The joys that came with my mouth were suddenly omitted, like:
Leaving smooches on people’s cheeks.
Laughing, (when I wanted to.)
Centering pouts to my foes.
Smiling to strangers.

Until one day, while reading the morning paper
the headlines said that a mouth had been found
lost.
So I went to the center where they said my mouth was
being taken care of.

When I got there I was flabbergasted with
what the Dentist had told me.
“Your mouth needed a leash,
that voiced tongue and
intimidating full set of teeth.
So we plucked out some of its fangs.
Oh, and its Wise teeth too.
You know all the commotion genius could do…” 

I frowned.
“And that vindictive tongue! Would
not keep silent. It screamed poems 
about licking society-inflicted wounds,
self-righteousness, individuality,
and those crazy things. So we chopped that
off too, until it could no longer sing.” 
he spoke with a hiss in his 
voice.

“I am proud to say that this is our 
greatest work so far.
Maya, you are finally healed.
This mouth was going to get you into a lot of trouble, young lady.
Now, would you like your mouth back?”

I shook my head with disapproval,
gushed into tears and stormed home.
I let my mouth go and set it free.
What use would a speechless mouth
have been to me?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I could smell you all damn night

When I wake up

You are on my mind

As many of you as there is

A good you is hard to find

Sometimes you are cold

And sometimes you are weak

But often you are warm

Strong and at your peak

Sometimes you look large

And sometimes you look small

But often you're the perfect size

Not too short, and not too tall

Your scent is sexy, oh so rich

I could smell you all damn night

But instead I will just taste you

And you'll fill me up just right ;)

 

Love you forever coffee :) xx


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Symbiosis

"Each experience is locked within my heart and only I hold the key..."

“Dad, I’m going to straighten your closet for you,” 
my wife said as she set upon the task of pulling out his 
clothes and refolding and re-hanging each item.
“I have to go to the John.” was his reply.
“OK, you go. Need help?” she asked him.
“No.” Into the bathroom he went.
Immediately out he came again.
“Can you help me with my pants?”
“Sure dad, there you go.”
Back in again but leaving the door wide open this time.
She closed it and went back to the closet.
“Why don’t they put his things back the way they should go?”
Fold, hang, arrange.
“Dad are you OK in there? Do you need help?”
“No. Can you come in and help me with my pants?”
“Dad, you have them on backwards.
That’s why you can’t find the zipper. Here let me help.”
Out they both come. 
A successful mission.
“What do you think of your closet now?”
“Wow! I have the best looking closet in the whole place.”
“Yes you do. I’m going to talk to them about keeping it that way.”
Out the door she goes. 
A new purpose. 
Making things better for her dad.
“She’ll give them hell,” he said to me.
We watched the news for a while and then he got up.
He went to the closet and pulled out some clothes.
After unfolding them and looking at them he stuffed them back in.
Not in the right place. 
He sat down and smiled.

Tony Lane
A Fragment Of Life contest
Written 8/20/11


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Sing of Turtle Doves

I am painting pictures of things unseen,and of places I have never been. I am painting masterpieces with my pen,and I sing of Turtle Doves.I Sing songs of things I know not of...Bellowing words of love. Gleeful greetings,I send out, of things which I know not about. To someones heart long ago an Englishman aimed his love... So I sing of Turtle Doves,and leaping lords.
 I have never seen a Partridge nor do I have a pear tree. Yet I Sing the words every year Wholeheartedly.Two Turtle Doves. Three french hens ...and a Partridge in a Pear tree. I even sing of the"Swimming Swans."My favorite part is when you get to hold that note."Five Golden Rings." Then you start  again...               
                         
End Poem


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TIME

Tick tack  on the wall,
Knocking all the wall,
Scaring us all,
Muscling the muscles,
Muscling the morsels in us,
Quickening the finest deep,
The hidden gold of gold,
A dignity of labour,
How loyal and diligent you are,
Precious and precarious,
Dangerous and conspicuous.
TIME !!TIME!!TICK TACK!

Running without waiting for anybody,
How impatient could man be,
In your sound you keep man,
In haste at everydawn,
Thou hath in the haste of full dawn,
Desperately desperate,
Anxiously anxious,
Wisely wise are we and you
Preciously precious,
Nothing can be done without you that's obivously obvious.
TIME !!TIME!!TICK TACK!


We chose to choose you,
Working to work with you,
Falling to fall with you,
No time no food,
No time no suite,
No time no cheat,
No time no shift,
No time no me,
there is set time for everything,
Mama use to say,
Patience is virtue of time,
that's the way whichever way.
TIME !!TIME!!TICK TACK!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fire

The loud knock
Seemed to bring the night
To an abrupt end
And though
Her lips were wet and sweet
A voice he did not recognize
From the other side of the door
Urged both of them
To leave as quickly as possible
As the fire drew nearer
To their home
He had come so close
To having her stay the night
One might say
It was a sad case
Of premature evacuation


Details | Prose Poetry | |

You

Every day just this time I wait for you with full zeal From my window to look you, To watch you. Because your presence Helps to make a radical change Within a few minutes in our Sultry environment, The fair beauty. I became impatient to look you And you came. You came like a tuber rose, Just unfolding her petals. Your dazzling white teeth Helps to make much attractive Your famous bit of smile. The vernal breeze often Try to remove the scurf skilfully From your prominent bosom And you often try to fix it. A premature tinny boy Trying to attract your attention, See your reddish eyes, seems You want to stroke his head-quarters. Uncle John has a peculiar habit Embrace an young girl. Your quick depart proves He is near-by.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Restrictedtoo

Misspelled words and drawn remarks lend palatable distinction to the AIR surrounding this poems. The meaning of a word takes from the birth of the word as of a noun then applied in a misdirection as the adverb or worse the verb herself. Never in the outrage of this history of mankind will this poetry be repeated in this repetitive manner as this repititious drivel indicates. The person who pens these odious smears at justice is not human. No mere mortal could diatribe the snow or crucify a flower in the manner of a flouted lout outside the relm of possiblitites. Eye suggest to the reader ewe not to waste your time your very valuable bean time in a vain attempt at deciphering elements long non descript and void unless related to Poetry or forced to give Critique.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

World of Games

There are many types of games, 
Which are payed by Bond James. 

The games are also types of arts, 
Like the interesting game of Darts. 

Games are also called as toys, 
Which are played by girls and boys. 

Some games are very easy, 
But human beings are always busy. 

There is a game named cricket, 
Which is full of runs and wicket. 

The international competition of games is called Olympics, 
Which are played by using many tricks. 

Playing games will be more fun in Future, 
Because every human being will Mature. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

LA Doggy Style

 
Pug noses in designer hoodies 
Wicker baskets on beach cruisers 
Leather sofas doggy devoted 
Grooming parlors and pet hotels 
Best pooch in wedding tux 
Nip and tuck, no more nuts 
Hollywood glitz for puppy shitz 
LA doggy style
Westside!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

118

 118 
118 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
AprilFooley 
 
 Is tomorrow the end of March or the beginning of April April one or March 32 the 
way to approach the online scenario is to make it seem to be true. Associated 
Press AP: The Government in a brief memo enacted a new presidential law 
bringing the March 32 a new day into the light of day. The President of the United 
States declared leap year over null and voided. Here is the words of the transcript 
from the Whitehouse: This is President Bush talking "Eye am certain all we ever 
had to do was add a day on the end of a month when we need to in the year they 
used to all call leap year year. March now has the end of the month the April 
starts after the March 32 has come." End of quotation. The Democrats in Georgia 
have declared WAR upon the United States "we believe it to be wrong to take 
away leap year is bad enough but to add a day to MARCH is madness." The 
press corp at the Whitehouse is for once speechless. The day of the end of 
March will be celebrated all over the nation with the observnace of the Marching 
Bands of America. Send money via PayPal to Box 666 Mountain Verne 
Washingtonia, D.C. For the hearing impaired we have prepared a phonetic 
version of this message. March 32. Mahrrch Thirtee Twuu. In DRY counties of 
Arkansas this day will fall on April 1, 2008. The subdivisions housing in the 
Indian Reservations in Oklahoma will be left out. No one in Central Asia may 
observe it. Lets go LIVE to the White house to ask a question of Mrs. Bush. What 
will you do Barbara? The First Lady is unavaliable for comment. This is highly 
unusual. We remain speechless. The new day falls on a Tuesday this year and 
April 1, 2008 is on this Wednesday. All of you are April fools.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Restricted

Perhaps on hind sight they may decide to add more time they may fix the presets to make them open they may even be more user friendly but they missed it for the first time around how can you pretend to knoeledge when you hoard it when you keep it from the whole crowd and dish it out with the silver spoon as pablum carping in a stream. Refusing to be sane and safe you LORD it over otheres no Lord no power in your hand but the gang like backing of the others of your kind insisting on rules that neither help or edify the group you seem intent on making a world of non believers full of sin and queerness restricted in the use of all equipment not needing more than querulous food fed inthevieniously overhead of all the smarter ones never will agree this is exactly what it look likes this attempt at poetry is a poor ensample of a poor example of a poor man attempting poetry. In other word the man attempting to convey to the reader a poor understanding.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Listen Kristin

Just go to search. memb er poetry. "Bad Day at the Eye Doctor's" and it will pop 
up.
This is a true tale, and one of my dumbest stunts.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pith II

Writing is vanity,
except in the bathroom,
where vanity lies beneath,
and is replaced up top
by a truth-telling device
called a mirror.